The Bygone Years: Pieces of a Mosaic
by Grand Phoenix
Summary: Perhaps a picture isn't worth a thousand words. Rather, it can be one word and mean so much more. Fate/Nanoha. Seventh in The Bygone Years Saga.


**Disclaimer:** All characters and locations belong to their respective owners, ©2004-2008. I do not own the second ending song of the Code Geass Season One anime ("Mosaic Kakera"), which is sung by SunSet Swish.

_A/N: Hello again from the Grand Phoenix! This is a revised version of my Author's Notes, so let's kick things off, shall we?_

_"Pieces of a Mosaic" is my second piece in the Nanoha fandom, the first being the well-received "Baldur's Gate". Both take place in my Author's Universe, which I simply dub 'The MLR Project', each piece loosely connected to a larger storyline leading off into a series of . . . rather surprising events. However, the fanfics I'm currently writing for this particular archive is the PRE-MLR Project, a sort of starting point that will deliver readers through years of hardship, learning, sorrow, love, and wisdom. So far I have listed in my profile page NINE fanfics ("Baldur's Gate" and "Pieces of a Mosaic" being two of them), but this may expand as more ideas come along, and should that happen I will keep updating my Author's Notes to remind readers the placement in the story's timeline. You can learn (a little) more about The MLR Project by visiting the profile page under the Table of Contents section, where you'll see the chronological order of each story is in._

_"Pieces of a Mosaic" is the SIXTH piece in the Pre-MLR timeline, set three years before StrikerS begins, four years before the first MLR fanfic._

_So please enjoy. Concrit and feedback are welcomed and appreciated._

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**Pieces of a Mosaic**

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_"The mosaic pieces are coming together, piece by piece, to form a picture:  
The meeting and departure you gave me . . ."_  
"Mosaic Kakera" -- SunSet Swish

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In the eight years since Fate Testarossa Harlaown has taken residence on Earth, there is one thing that stands out in the forefront of her mind. It is a saying the Earthlings have: _A picture is worth a thousand words._

It confused her at first that art, be it beautiful, ugly, or surreal, could be described in so many words. It made her think snynoyms and antonyms didn't have much use in the English language. It had her thinking about dictionaries, how it should cut away every word that was too similar to another and keep the ones that held a deeper meaning, that could sum up all emotions, that meant SOMETHING.

There was a word for that sort of predicament. She heard of it in a book her class was assigned to read last summer. It was -- what was it? Was it Newspeak? . . . Ah yes, Newspeak. Newspeak was the word. Well, Fate was just about ready to forsake the confusing etymology and resort to this Newspeak when the dawn of a new age rose over the horizon and bathed the universe in a brilliant, comforting light.

She sees a picture playing out before her, sketched, painted, and brought to life by the hand of God. All the circles, three-quarter views, and complementary angles in the world could never describe this picture of such fluidity, such grace and flawless articulation! Pygmalion would _kill_ to sculpt his ideal woman if he saw and felt the same way Fate did. And if he happened to be reborn in this day and age, she would tell it to him in the greatest clarity.

But first she needs to take it in a little more, just a little longer. She can't look away, and even if she did, she wouldn't want to. Her eyes are fixed, _locked_, onto the three girls talking, laughing, overflowing with good cheer and joy. Alisa and Suzuka sit by the tree and listen to Nanoha, whose arms are spread out and embracing the wind. She seems to be reciting a poem, of the sky being her limit and the path of destiny leading through every environ imaginable. Their expressions tell Fate that they like it--

--but Fate isn't paying attention to any of that. Not the rustling leaves, not the background noise of rush hour traffic, not the mingling bells that are her friends' voices. None of that matters except Nanoha. In her eyes only Nanoha exists, in and out of time, the center masterpiece, a newborn star, a sunset on a beach. Her heart soars and beats just a bit harder at the smaller details: those blue irises which shine like the crystal sunshine on clear river water; that smile which glows brighter than one hundred suns; that voice that's sweet and melodious as a meadowlark's; that neck that's smooth and long as a swan's; that--

Fate stops herself going any further, not because of the dangerous territory she's about to tread but because a certain someone brings her out of her reverie. She looks and sees Nanoha staring straight back at her with a smile on her face.

"What are you doing?" she asks. Alisa and Suzuka are waiting for her to answer. Fate gets ready to make that response, but suddenly she watches that innocent smile transform into somewhat sinister, somewhat bewitching, somewhat . . . more?

_'My goodness, Fate,'_ says the white mage telepathically, _'you're an awful shade of red. What could you be thinking about? What does my sweet, pure Fate see that I don't?'_

The smirk grows ever wider at the Midchildan's flustered expression, which is quickly schooled by (forced) neutrality. She sets down the briefcase she's been holding, walks up to Nanoha (concentrate! she thinks. Concentrate!), stops, and clears her throat. The tension is thick, suffocating. Alisa and Suzuka both know there's something else; they can hardly contain themselves, but they wait. And wait.

Finally, Fate speaks: "Well, Nanoha, to answer your question . . ."

"_Yes?_" wheedles the Earthling, tilting her head to the side.

"You want to know what I'm thinking?"

Wider goes the smirk, eyes twinkling with mirth. "What are you thinking?"

"This." And Fate tackles Nanoha to the ground, and before Alisa and Suzuka can register what's happening the two mages are rolling down the hill, Nanoha screaming all the way to the bottom. They're too shocked to react, but then they laugh and jest at the look their friends are giving each other.

It's Fate's turn to smirk at the brunette, who's pouting and glaring at her but at the same time it's too comical to be taken seriously. Nanoha smiles, and like quicksilver she rears up and pushes the red-eyed blonde on her back. Laughter bubbles forth and Fate tells Nanoha to stop because she's tickling her and she's so sensitive that she might kick her hard enough to make strong-willed men cringe.

Yet all the while she thinks of Pygmalion, thinks of his loneliness, his sorrow, his love, his determination. She thinks of how he found happiness in the woman he built, carved from his own hands, sculpted with his heart and soul. She thinks of how Nanoha saved her from her own agony, pulled her out of the dark and into the light of a new age's dawning.

And those eyes . . . she can't help but stare into those eyes. They're so blue and beautiful and fathomless. And that face . . . that laughing, smiling face bursting with energy . . .

_'I love her,'_ states Fate T. Harlaown with undying awe. _'I love Nanoha Takamachi. I'm in love, and it feels so RIGHT.'_

Perhaps a picture isn't worth a thousand words. Rather, it can be one word and mean so much more.


End file.
